


Conquering Shadows

by Inkeye



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Gratuitous Swearing, monster au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6026892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkeye/pseuds/Inkeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A monster AU, splitting off in Season 2. In a Gotham where people and creatures coexist, the human Jim Gordon still sticks out like a sore thumb. But that's alright, because he spent months acclimating, learning the rules while keeping to his own. He's made friends and enemies, had victories and failures, and has been a beacon of light in this dark city. But when Jim is at his most vulnerable, he has to rely on his allies and friends to keep the city from falling into ruin.<br/>Pairings undecided. Gen till then. Be wary, folks, might be some manly man smutstuff later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conquering Shadows

 

Jim Gordon had pulled a lot of shit. The man should be rotting at the bottom of the river. Or eaten, depending on who he pissed off. Harvey had said it. Everyone who _met_ him said it. But somehow, the crazy man survived Gotham. It was fact. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and Jim had the uncanny ability to wriggle his way out of certain death.

So when Theo Galavan had lunged, quicker than Harvey or anybody else could _see_ (faster than the 'weres or leeches or shadow-stalkers, what _was_ he?) and his target had been _Jim_ -

(Which, by the way, what the hell? The guy screws with your operations, wrecks your public image every time you build it back up, and what gets your goat is an arrest? Hell of a last straw to pick, Galavan.)

Sure, they had been there to finally arrest the bastard, but none of them expected _that_. In one terrifying moment of fangs and blood, the politician had created more chaos than Jim had ever managed, and destroyed Jim's track record to boot. If Jim ever woke up, he was going to be pissed.

When. _When_.

Behind them, screams, gunshots, the sounds of people and desks colliding with the wall-

Pick up the pace, Harv. Sure, plenty of civilians gawking, and there was an insane critter somewhere behind, but don't let that distract you from the most worrying thing that you could be panicking over-after all, it's not every day your partner is bleeding out on your shoulder.

No, feelings later. _Rage_ later.

But goddamnit, this shouldn't be happening. Maybe back at the beginning, when Harvey and Esson and fucking everyone expected Jim to get his. When he was wet behind the ears and so, so _stupid_. But now, when Jim knew the city like the back of his hand, knew the corruption and the people and the creatures and the rules and could _play_ them, all while clinging to his sense of justice? This was just fucking wrong.

Jim was still somewhat conscious. (How the fuck was he conscious after that-) Enough that his feet stumbled after his body, holding some of the weight. He gasped, wetly, in Harvey's ear. Was the gurgling getting worse? Was it his face getting visibly paler? What the fuck did he know, he wasn't a fucking doctor.

Small details. Jim was moving. Jim was breathing. That was good.

No, everything was still terrible. This was supposed to be _simple_ , for _once_. Jim had been so smug this morning, having found one last bit of information to finish the net he had been working on for weeks. He had been ready to finally catch Galavan and put the bastard away for good. So, with the Commissioner's blessing, they had rounded up half a dozen other officers and ambushed the politician when he was leaving a ceremony. Everyone knew he was a creature. Not what kind, he was a politician after all. But he didn't set off any sense alarms they had available, and they thought eight people would be enough.

And then Galavan went all two-inch-fangs on Jim's throat, and all hell broke loose. Harvey and another cop tore Jim free, and Harvey had pulled him out of the room. Stole a woman's handkerchief on the way, pressing it to Jim's neck. Not that it did much good. But Harvey _really_ did not want to look at the mess. At least it wasn't that-that important vein, which one was it? If it had been the-that one, Jim would, at the least, be unconscious.

Or dead.

It was still too much blood. Enough to stain the handkerchief through and soak Jim's shirt and make a mess of his jacket. God fucking damn it.

Finally, finally, they reached the parking lot. He put Jim up against the car, fumbled with his keys. It wasn't easy to push him into the back seat. His legs kept getting tangled.

Stupid fucking Galavan. Stupid fucking Jim.

Yeah, this was going to be messy. Not just for them, though. Taking a bite (more like a chunk) out of Gotham's Golden Boy was going to backfire bigtime on that dumbass. As a politician, as a creature, the fallout would destroy him. Hopefully not completely. Harvey had a few special bullets that were begging for an excuse. And fucking hell if this wasn't a good one.

Nearby, one of the cops came running out of the building. It was that newbie, the girl that Jim took under his wing.

She sprinted up to him. "-Peaks-is calling Commissioner Barnes-telling him-what happened-" She gasped. "Galavan-took off-"

"He took off. He _took off._ And you _let him go?_ " He slammed his fist on the hood, making her jump. "You get everyone you can, and you chase after him. Hear me? I don't care what you have to tell Barnes, _you hunt him down._ "

He took off. Jesus.

(Somewhere, in the back of his head, Harvey thought about the speed Galavan had used to attack Jim. The noises he heard

from behind. And felt just the tinniest bit bad for yelling at the girl.)

"Would you wait a fucking second?" The girl stopped. "Tell him-tell Barnes I'm going off-grid. Most of the real slime in this city is working under Galavan now. I don't want anyone looking to finish the job."

She swallowed, and nodded, and ran away again.

And he was just standing there. Jesus fucking Christ.

Harvey peeled out of the parking lot. Barnes had better get the message. And the hint.

He could still hear that sticky, shallow breathing. They weren't out of time yet.

\---

The phone was ringing. Alfred patted his hands dry and picked it up.

"Wayne Residence. How may I help you?"

"Mr. Pennyworth?" Who was this-ah, yes. The new Commissioner.

"Speaking. Is this-

"Commissioner Barnes. I apologize for the abruptness, but this is an emergency. I need to speak to Bruce Wayne. Not the boy. The Head of the Wayne House."

Alfred's eyes narrowed, and his spine straightened. To make that distinction..."You are correct. That is abrupt for such a request. Master Wayne doesn't take unscheduled calls of this manner. Whatever you intend to ask for-"

The man interrupted him. Again. "I would like to barter for formal refuge."

"Formal refuge." The Commissioner likely had another Head or some states-person that needed hiding. He wanted to drag Master Wayne back into politics, when he had been settling so nicely back into a routine. Even if the boy had odd tastes in friends, what with the stray 'were, he wasn't going to disrupt his life with-

"It's Jim. Jim Gordon. Theo Galavan made an attempt on his life, and he nearly succeeded. Gordon is badly injured, I don't know how badly, and I already have word of movement in the underground.  He needs a place to get medical attention and stay low."

"..."

"Mr. Pennyworth?"

"We will be ready to receive guests within ten minutes. If you have further information on whom shall be hunting Detective Gordon in the near future, I expect to be notified. Good day." He hung up and left the kitchen, mentally cataloging the necessary supplies.

He would gather medical essentials, and then confront Master Wayne.

\---

Harvey swung into the driveway amidst screeching tires and burning rubber. He parked haphazardly on a patch of lawn close to the door, and flung himself out to get the back door open.

Jim was completely out of it, now. Red ran in a sheet down his neck, and his breath was too quiet.

"Jesus fucking-"

"We must move him immediately."

Harvey yelped as Alfred materialized behind him. The manservant nudged him out of the way and maneuvered Jim around to be carried.

"Hey, hey, not so fast, don't jostle him-"

"I very much doubt he wasn't jostled on the way here. He will survive a little more blood loss. We must get Detective Gordon into the mansion now, so as to have him under ward and administer to whatever venoms may be attacking his system."

Ah shit, Harvey hadn't even thought about venom. Too much fucking blood to worry about what might kill Jim later as opposed to the blood loss now. And he should probably stop glaring at the man who was helping them.

"Okay, alright. Let's get him in there."

Together, they carried him to the door, where the fucking butler stopped in his tracks.

"What the hell, man-" Alfred shushed him.

"Detective Bullock."

Bruce Wayne stood in the middle of the doorway.

"As the scion of House Wayne, it is my right offer Sanctuary as I see fit. I do so now for Jim Gordon and conditionally for Harvey Bullock, as his proxy to the outside world during his stay. Welcome."

And then, casually as you please, the kid stabbed his own thumb and let a drop of blood fall on the threshold.

Fucking upper class and their stupid customs and stupid etiquette. Whatever. It got Jim in a safe place, so who cares.

Bruce stepped aside, and they hauled Jim into Wayne Manor.

\---

Alfred saw Master Bruce wince as he peeled the cloth away. He shouldn't be watching this, but the boy had just been in his Head persona and wasn't taking orders from anybody. Still, a small reaction for him to make considering the damage on the detective's neck.

Alfred believed it had been a clean insertion, quick and deep. It was the removal that made such a mess. From simple puncture wounds to gashes that ripped flesh and tendon alike. Not that he was going to tell Bullock that. The man looked to be on the verge of vomiting as it was.

This was another clue to the puzzle that was Theo Galavan. No member of the aristocracy worth their salt revealed their bestial natures. It was a mark of refinement for well-known creature families, such as the Waynes, to barely give a hint of their nature to the world. So the Galavans were fanged, and with long ones at that. An important discovery. If he could find a trace of venom and take a sample-

No, as their guest, Jim was the first priority. And even with just a sluggish flow, the man had leaked all over the guest room and was now dripping onto the pillow.

So Alfred worked quickly. With a proficient hand (and two silent onlookers) he sterilized a needle and linked an IV bag with morphine drip to Jim's arm. He flushed out the wound three times (more would take too much time) and worked to close it. Fortunate (as fortunate as the situation could be) that none of the tendons had been completely severed, nor any arteries nicked.

(That disturbed Alfred. With such a wide wound, and additional furrows, it still missed anything vital. Alfred didn't believe in luck.)

As he made the final stitching, Detective Bullock broke the silence.

"So-if there's any venom-"

"I cleaned it fairly thoroughly, and we _are_ in Wayne Manor. Unwelcome outside influences in our guests die at the door. If any infection managed to survive, it will move too slowly to kill Detective Gordon before he recovers from this wound. By the time he's ready to leave, his body will be ready to fight any lingering effects off on its own."

"So he _is_ going to recover?"

"It's early yet, but I daresay he has good odds." Bullock slumped in his chair. The man looked equally relieved and exhausted. "I shall ready the next room, if you intend to stay the night." Alfred offered, the picture of courtesy, and Bullock nodded gratefully. He would bother the man later about the day's events, when he wasn't about to fall out of the chair. Alfred gathered up the stained rags. Perhaps he could extract a sample from them.

Before that, he would have to have a word with Master Bruce. The boy, and his little friend, were quite fond of the detective. It wouldn't do for them to run off looking for retribution. Judging by the distant look on Bruce's face, it was looking to be a long debate. Not that he wasn't unsettled himself. He certainly didn't like seeing Bruce's staunch ally lying lifelessly in the guest suite. But there was a proper way to go about such things.

Alfred wondered how this would come to change the balance of power in Gotham.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank goodness that's not rattling around my skull anymore. I don't know how much I'm going to do with this one. I've got two other projects that have dibs on my attention, but I might swing back to this once in a while.  
> As with all my works, there may be wee errors I'll clean up later.


End file.
